


Once More

by KarenR2



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Wedding, reset
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5223425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarenR2/pseuds/KarenR2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It feels like we’ve been married a thousand times before, doesn’t it…?” There was a warm laugh and Toriel’s eyes glistened. “Then aren’t we the lucky ones?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once More

**Author's Note:**

> Just take my soriel feels ;A;

 

* * *

 

**9a**

_“I think we… may know each other?”_

* * *

 

**5**

Sans stared at his hand as if it personally offended his mother.

“Sans?” Toriel asked, looking back at him and frowning. “Is something the matter?”

Her voice snapped him out of his inner alarm and he violently shoved his hand back into the prison of his pocket, giving the goat monster a grin that he hoped looked aloof. “Everything’s fine,” he said, casually shrugging his shoulders. “There was, ah, a bug on my hand, that’s all.”

Toriel looked at him for a second longer before she gave him an accepting smile and said cheekily, “Didn’t know insects _bugged_ you.”

The smaller skeleton laughed and fell back into a casual pace with his companion as they walked along the road, behind the human and his brother. “They don’t usually—only when they’re _pest_ -ering me,” he countered smoothly with a wink.

Toriel snorted in laughter and Sans allowed the sound to finish their little conversation, the two of them falling into a comfortable silence as they watched over the other two. Sans believed that he was over whatever spell he’d been under, but then his eyes unwittingly slid down to once again glance at Toriel’s hand.

Within his pockets, his hands clenched into fists and his face burned.

He’d almost grabbed her hand—for no reason, with no prompting. It had been as natural and as fluid as breathing, and when he caught himself, he was _appalled_. He didn’t know what had got over him, but he scolded his stupid hand for doing things without his consent.

What did it think it was doing, acting as if holding hands with Toriel was normal?

* * *

  **10**

_The sunlight warmly seeped into the room. Sans was the first to wake, and he blinked his eyes open to the sight of a woman who slept beside him. He watched her for awhile (who knew how long, really) until she, too, slowly opened her eyes and caught his gaze._

_There was silence as they looked at each other, on this first morning._

_Then Toriel smiled sleepily, "Good morning, husband."_

_Sans's chest was filled with a warmth that couldn't be matched by any sunlight._

_"Good morning, wife."_

* * *

 

**6**

He’s dreamed about them, and when he did, he often woke up flustered and embarrassed and oddly _heavy_. He couldn’t get it out of his mind.

“No, it can’t be…” Sans said weakly, chuckling to himself. He buried his face into his boney hands, trying to hide despite the fact that he was completely alone in his room. “Am I in… _that_ deep?”

Sans was aware that he perhaps liked Toriel a bit more than a friend should. He was aware that she was the only person his skeleton heart ever skipped a beat for consistently and without failure. He knew the signs, the reason for his sudden nervousness, couldn’t deny the suspicious/knowing looks from his brother and the human kid respectively. He even accepted his defeat himself when he’d become momentarily paralysed just because she kissed him on the forehead once. Perhaps he had a _little_ crush on a certain goat monster.

But… to dream about being her husband, and she being his wife…?

Was he in _that_ deep?

“Boy am I weird,” he whispered with a self-depreciating chuckle. ‘No one must know about this,’ he promised to himself. Dreaming that they were girlfriend and boyfriend was one thing, but dreaming about a domestic life where he was allowed to cuddle and kiss her whenever he wished and they shared a bed to hold each other and they talked about furniture placement and what colours to choose for the dining room and where they discussed about plans for a holiday by the seaside, perhaps in a rented cottage big enough for Frisk and Papyrus too—

It was too detailed, felt too real, and Sans didn’t appreciate it at all.

Luckily, he was able to forget most of the content of those dreams fairly quickly in the wake of morning, but his chest always constricted in such a strange way when he saw Toriel next. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was missing and it made him uneasy.

He wondered what it would actually be like if they were really married; he was quick to shake off the thought though, his face betraying him as it flushed blue, thankfully without Toriel’s notice. Fantasising a future like that when they weren’t even a _thing_ —how embarrassing.

* * *

 

**7**

There were some things that Sans knew, even though he wasn’t quite sure _how_ he had acquired the business of knowing them in the first place.

“Ah, thank you, Sans!” Toriel said, her deep, red-tinted eyes bright and merry. She lifted up the dress, long and modest and a gorgeous shade of sunshine orange. “How did you know that I wanted this dress? I don’t think I’ve ever told you!”

Sans chuckled, feeling warm and elated that she was happy with her present. “Lucky guess,” he answered with a shrug.

“I’ll go try it on right now; please wait here for me.” Toriel flashed him an excited smile and exited the room, possibly to change into the dress in her bedroom.

Sans sat on the couch and waited, glad how today was going. Papyrus found it odd that he’d impulsively bought the dress during one of their outings in the city, especially since there wasn’t even a special occasion to buy it for. Sans didn’t really know why either. They had just passed by the window and the dress being displayed had caught his eye, and he felt _compelled_ to buy it. He’d thought:

‘Tori would like that.’

And so he’d bought it (much to Papyrus’s bafflement and suspicion, since it cost Sans quite a bit of money that he was saving) and promptly made his way to Toriel’s to surprise her with it. ‘Was it out-of-character of me to do something like this?’ Sans wondered. ‘Buying things for Tori just seems so natural somehow…’

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching him. When he looked up, his breath was stolen away from non-existent lungs.

She was gorgeous.

Toriel’s face glowed with the faint blush in her cheeks and she gave Sans an indulgent twirl, the dress flittering softly like petals on the wind around her ankles. “It’s a perfect fit,” she said in surprise, holding out her arms and admiring the colour of the dress. “How did you know my size?” she asked again, slightly awed.

Sans gulped, trying to find his voice. When he did, he cleared his throat and tore his eyes away. “L-Lucky guess?” he said again, unsure this time and his heart beating fast, quick, _thump-thump-thump_ like the sprint of a rabbit. He saw with his peripheral vision Toriel getting closer to him and he tensed, his body rigid and forcibly stilled. Toriel sat down next to him and gave him a kiss on the top of his head, nuzzling his cheek affectionately with hers for the briefest of moments before pulling away.

“Thank you, Sans,” she said softly, and the gentle caress of her breath on the side of his skull made him shiver. “I love it.”

“Y-You’re welcome, Tori,” Sans said, unable to look at her and cursing himself for not thinking of something clever to say to diffuse the tension.

But he didn’t need to worry because Toriel was already laughing lightly and saying, “Honestly, Sans—it always surprises me. Sometimes I wonder if you know me better than I know myself.”

Those words, for some reason, gave him a jolt and he instinctively turned. He caught her eyes and she was surprised by how serious he suddenly looked. With their bodies so close and the space intimate between them, he confessed to her—

“I _do_ know you.”

There was a beat, the air thick and tense. Toriel’s eyes widened and Sans’s no-nonsense gaze slowly dissolved into one of confusion and panic. Seeing the change of expression, Toriel snapped out of it too and she blushed deeply, bewildered and feeling a little uncomfortable. She felt like she was missing something. She laughed it off nervously and stood up, saying, “I’m going to have to repay you now. How about you stay over for dinner? Your brother can come too.”

Sans shook his head and resisted the urge to bury himself in his jacket. “Y-Yeah, um, sounds good,” he responded without a thought. He wanted the couch to suck him up and make him disappear forever.

Why had he said something weird like that? He was a _freak_. God, Tori must feel so uncomfortable right now—what was he thinking? He sounded like a _stalker_.

However, it would explain how he knew all these odd, little things about Toriel, but he _wasn’t_ stalker—he just _knew_ , but how did he have a hold of this knowledge in the first place—?

There was that queasy feeling in his stomach again and he felt like he was going to be sick.

“Sans? Are you alright?”

There was a soft hand on his face, cradling his cheek. Why does this feel so familiar to him? It shouldn’t be familiar, but it was, and it _hurt_.

“Heh… I’m fine, Tori,” Sans said in a small, hoarse voice. He couldn’t look at her.

“Don’t lie to me.” Toriel’s voice was stern now, not accepting any of his fibs. “You’re as white as a ghost.”

The skeleton couldn’t help but chuckle at that wording. “But I’m a skeleton,” he rebuked, cheeky and able to look her in the eyes again.

Toriel’s expression was annoyed but the fact that Sans was looking at her calmed her down a little. “You know what I mean,” she huffed. “You’re all clammy. I’ll get you some water. You really have to take better care of yourself, Sans, and not work so much. You’ve got to look out for yourself as well.” She gave him a sad, worried stare. “I know you too.”

Sans’s heart thudded and he smiled at her painfully. When she pulled back and started to take her hand away, he was hit with an almost overwhelming urge to snatch her hand up and keep her in place. But he didn’t and she let go, walking away to the kitchen.

Sans sunk into the couch, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was feeling frustrated and malcontent, and he didn’t know exactly why.

* * *

**  
8**

Eventually, however, he got used to his odd knowledge of all things Toriel. In fact, more often than not, he was grateful for this unusual pool of knowledge.

He knew when she was sad. It was in the downturn of her lips, the extra heaviness in her eyes. He knew when she tried to hide away her pain, because he recognised each and every one of her smiles and could tell the genuine ones apart from the fake. He knew what drinks she liked, how much sugar she wanted in her tea, which snails she preferred to eat during each season and occasion; he knew which books she liked reading for a rainy day, knew the way she liked her socks folded, knew how she liked the dishes cleaned: plates first, then bowls, then cutlery, and finally glasses and cups. If she lost her reading glasses, she would have most likely forgotten that she’d put them on the shelf above the fireplace; if she wanted to stay at home instead of going out, it was because she was thinking about the past and he wished he could be the one to be with her, because he _knows_ that she’s lonely—

It was uncanny, these things he knew. Perhaps he was just super observant. Perhaps it really was just luck that he managed to always pick out her preferred colour for a certain thing, always seemed to guess where she hid her secret stash of dried snails. The nostalgia and the not-quite memories seemed to float in the back of his head, probing him, asking him questions and imploring him to remember, but since he couldn’t unlock their origins, he settled for simply accepting them.

Memories that were blurred and not _his_ , but at the same time, so familiar. He’d be hit by déjà vu but the feelings were never dull.

Like the time he confessed to her—the first time that felt like the thousandth. Every stutter familiar, every awkward pause intimate and equally mortifying—the beat of his heart so painful, thudding so loudly and without mercy. Stuck between the painfully timeworn and the horrifically new, he felt everything, wanted nothing more or less, every essence of his being exposed and _raw_.

And the elation of her answer, the disbelief and the shock—the happiness and the joy of falling in love once again, as if it were brand new, like it was something new.

He wondered if it _was_ new. He accepted that perhaps it was not.

But that didn’t matter to him at all.

Let it repeat.

Nothing faded.

In fact—

every repeat made it stronger.

* * *

 

**1**

“And then I told them—I don’t even know how it _goat_ here!”

Sans bellowed, his laughter loud and infectious. “Oh my god, Tori—did you really? How did they react?”

Toriel answered with a grin, “Why, they burst out laughing, of course. The children are so easily amused.”

“Or your jokes have just goat-en better, hm?”

A warm, familiar laugh. “I must be rubbing off on them though, because do you know what one of the children then said?”

Sans’s smile was stretched out wide in anticipation. “What?”

Toriel’s smile dropped away and she looked down at Sans with a completely serious expression, her lips pressed into a thin line. “He said,” she confessed lowly, “’ _you’ve goat to be kidding me._ ’”

Their laughter mingled together to form some sort of musical monstrosity of chuckles and snorts and bleats. Toriel became breathless, tears forming at the corner of her eyes at the memory; the pride on her face spoke volumes to Sans, who gazed up at her adoringly. Between them, Toriel’s empty hand swung gently by her waist, and Sans didn’t even need to look at it in order to slip his smaller, bonier hands into hers.

Her hands were warm and soft and enveloped his like a glove. He squeezed and she squeezed back, neither of them breaking their strides and continuing on with their conversation as if there was nothing amiss—as if their holding hands was completely natural, and while not worth the batting of an eye, was definitely worth the skip of a heartbeat.

* * *

 

**2**

They were walking in the city together, the walkpaths lined with snow that had freshly fallen from earlier that morning. They were covered from head to toe in their warmest clothes, but they still had their hands linked and their sides pressed together in an excuse to fend away the cold. Why did they need excuses, anyway? They were long past that.

As they traversed in silence through the crowd, something caught Toriel’s eyes and she paused on the walkpath, making Sans stop as well.

“Hm?” the skeleton questioned, looking back. Toriel was looking at something in the window display.

“Oh! Look at that, Sans!” she said, awed. “It’s beautiful!”

Sans obeyed her and looked. It was a dress coloured in sunset orange, reminding him of the summer. He smiled gently and said, “It looks a bit cold for the weather right now.”

“It must be their season sale,” she said wistfully. “Ah, so cheap!”

“I’ll buy it for you,” he said, grinning. “Come on.”

Toriel looked at him, surprised. “They probably don’t have one in my size…”

“Doesn’t hurt to check, does it?” he said, giving her a wink. “Come on, Tori. It’s not like we’re in a rush or anything.” He tugged on her hand, already leading her towards the door, despite her shallow reluctance. Observers might have found it odd how a short skeleton was tugging along a larger lady while she followed him without trouble, but they would have also undoubtedly found it adorable.

It was a lot warmer inside than it was outside. As Sans waited for Toriel to put on the dress, he slipped off his jacket and put it on the seat beside him. He kept his scarf on, since it was always a hassle to put it back on. There weren’t many other people in the store with them, so Sans was able to wait in comfortable silence for his girlfriend to come out.

He was gazing off to the side staring at some hoodies he saw on one of the shelves when he heard a voice calling him, “Sans? How does it look?”

When he turned, his breath was taken away.

_(How many times had he seen her in this dress? The twelfth, the hundredth, the first? Regardless of the answer, his reaction will always be the same.)_

“It looks… great,” Sans managed to say, feeling warm. He tugged at his scarf, trying to get it looser. He coughed in embarrassment and asked, “How do you like it?”

“It’s really nice,” she confessed, avoiding his eyes and giving him a twirl that made his heart thud. “Are you sure it fits me?”

“Fits you like a glove,” Sans assured with a grin. “Come on—I’ll buy it for you.”

“O-Oh, you don’t have to do that…”

“No, I don’t—but I want to.” He gave her a wink. “Call it a gift for the first day of Christmas.”

Her eyes twinkled and she laughed. “Oh? We’re going to do that, then? What shall I give you in return for the first day?”

Sans opened his mouth to say _a kiss_ , but he shut it tightly back up and flushed. Holding hands was one thing, but a _kiss_ —

He wasn’t brave enough to ask for that aloud, and definitely not in public—

But Toriel seemed to have read his mind and walked towards him, bending down to give him a kiss on his forehead. “Thank you, Sans.” She gave him a smile that nearly blinded him and oh, Sans recognised the amusement in her eyes—

He blushed deeply and looked away, but couldn’t help but blurt out, “Your teasing is making me _blue_.”

Toriel’s laugh was loud and unrestricted, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek as an apology.

* * *

 

**3**

Oh, he had his secrets. He knew things that he was better off not knowing. It kept him up at night, drove him to dark places, made him see shadows and pessimism everywhere. The secrets that he knew, the reality that he was aware of—it sucked the hope out of him, made him wonder: what was the point?

He was burdened with a weight that he couldn’t share, because he wouldn’t do that to the people he loved.

And yet…

“Sans?”

And yet…

“Sans, are you okay?”

It was so easy to fool everyone else. It was so easy to distract them with anecdotes, to infuriate them with jokes, to disillusion them with a placid smile and a wink.

“Sans…”

… So why could he never fool _her_ for long?

Arms wrapped around him, enveloping him in a warmth that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to live without.

“Sans, please…” she implored, sounding on the verge of tears. “Please… talk to me… help me understand what’s wrong…”

Sans’s arms hung limply by his sides, refusing to embrace her, rejecting the comfort that she gave so freely (and yet craving it—craving it so badly that he shook). “It’s nothing… I guess I just suddenly got chilled to the bone…” he said, laughing. Oh, how had he messed up _this_ time? Did something show on his face? Weren’t they just laughing a minute ago, without a care in the world? He had felt so _happy_ just a heartbeat ago, so why—?

He was so stupid. What expression did he let slip this time?

He was so stupid.

“Stop lying to me,” she said, holding him tighter because he refused. “Promise me that you won’t ever lie to me.”

Ah, this promise. How many times has he refused to make this one? He’s lost count.

“Tori…” His voice was rough, coarse, as if he was bottling something terrible inside and talking only made it worse. “You can’t… You can’t understand.” He tried to pull away from her embrace. He looked elsewhere because he was intimately familiar with the expression of hurt that flashed across her face and he didn’t need to see it again. “You should stop asking me to make so many promises—I mean, wasn’t _that_ one enough? I’m fine, okay? You’ve just got to trust me—”

But Toriel was having none of it.

As Sans tried to pull away, she suddenly reached out and grabbed his face. She made him turn towards her, made him look her in the eye. “I may not understand everything…” she said slowly, her gaze full of concern and irritableness and something else Sans didn’t want to identify, not right now, he wouldn’t be able to handle the confession. “I may not be as smart as you; you may think I can’t help… that I’m useless…”

Her words cut him deep and he instinctively reached out to grab her hands, squeezing them tightly and shaking his head. “T-Tori, no—”

“But you’re _wrong_ , Sans.” There was a firmness in her voice, an unshaking resolve in her eyes. “I may not know what’s making you sad, but I know _you_. I know when you’re lying, I know when you’re unhappy—I can tell the difference between your fake smile and your real one; I can tell when you’re really making a joke and when you’re actually asking for help. Even if I can’t help… even if you say you’re fine…” She leaned in closer and pressed their foreheads together, her expression pained. “I’m always going to be here to protect you and care for you, Sans. Even if you don’t feel like sharing—don’t… don’t ever forget that I’m here. Even if you never tell me anything… I’ll be anything you need me to be. I promise.”

Sans’s heart was breaking.

He was looking into her eyes, and he wondered how he let himself hurt her like this. How could he have let her love him like this? Why did she love him? God, how was he this _lucky_ —

His hands were shaking and he closed his eyes, pressing close to her, feeling her arms wrap around him in an embrace and this time he held her back, tightly, so tightly. He let out a strangled laugh. “You always know what to do…” he confessed in a murmur. “Jeez, Tori—how do you know me so well?”

“Because I _do_ know you.” Toriel said, pulling back. She gave a kiss to the top of his head. “Maybe even better than you know yourself.”

He looked at her then, tears in his eyes.

God—

if there was one—

please, please don’t ever let him lose her.

* * *

 

**4**

It was quite possibly one of the happiest days of his life. It could have been _the_ happiest, but Sans wasn’t willing to rank the events against each other like that.

He was bone-weary, but he was elated. Together, with their hands linked, they collapsed onto their bed, Sans’s jacket thrown off and the top buttons of his shirt undone. Toriel’s dress, when she collapsed, spread all over the mattress, covering up the majority of the space like a thick blanket. They laughed at that like stupid teenagers and Sans helped her wrestle with the monstrous amount of fabric until both she and him had space and room to turn and gaze at each other, lying on the bed.

They were both out of breath and Sans couldn’t help but adore the blush in Toriel’s cheeks. How he loved this woman.

“Well,” Toriel whispered, as if they were about to start a conspiracy, “we’re married now.”

Sans couldn’t stop the smile from stretching on his face. “Yes.” A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. “Regretting it yet?”

“Won’t ever,” Toriel scolded, but even she couldn’t stop grinning. Her eyes glazed over wistfully and she said softly, “Today was amazing. Perfect.”

“Yes,” Sans said cheekily. “You could say… it went without a _hitch_.”

Toriel laughed, her whole frame shaking, and Sans chuckled in amusement as her laughter shook the bed as well. He could get used to this. “Sans…” Toriel said, calming down and snuggling closer to him. “I’m so happy.”

Sans reached out and held her cheek, gently running his thumb over her eyes to wipe away her tears. “Me too, Tori…” The rustle of fabric as they moved closer together, the shift of the bed as they tried to get near. They held each other’s hands and pressed their faces close, staring at one another like they were the only people left in the world. They stayed like that for countless minutes, for an infinite time, the position easy and the eyes familiar and both bathed in a comfortable warmth of nostalgia, their good old friend.

“It feels like… we’ve been married a thousand times before, doesn’t it…?” Sans confessed in a whisper, tentatively breaking the silence.

There was a warm laugh and Toriel’s eyes glistened. “Then aren’t we the lucky ones?”

To fall in love again and again with the same person; for every meeting to create a spark; for every choice, for every probability, for every event that led up to this moment again, and again, and again—

For the echo to get louder, to reach endless spaces—

For the ripple to keep going, further and further and further, always larger, getting bigger, duplicating again but getting _better_ —

How lucky they were.

* * *

 

**9b**

_He looked at her and he was aware of the tentative recognition in her eyes. She didn’t quite know him, but there was something there._

_Sans could barely hold himself back from saying—_

_You were my wife, once._

_Instead, he said,_

_“Hey… I recognise your voice, too.”_

_And he said it with a grin, with a smile, with hope in his eyes—_

_Yes, you were my wife once._

_Can you be my wife once more?_

* * *

**Repeat**

 


End file.
